Lemon Cake and Constellations
by themuse123
Summary: Five times Rick and Michonne dismissed the tension (and one time they didn't).
1. Homecoming

A/N: This is just a little thing I wanted to write out to try and get myself back in the fanfic game. Hopefully it's enjoyable. Warning for: shameless fluff, silly Richonne and (eventual) smut. Because our power couple deserves a break from all the heavy shit. If life cooperates, I'll try to have the next chapter up soon. Till then, much love.

1\. Homecoming

She couldn't say she welcomed it, the little sunburst in her stomach as his silhouette came into view. She recognized him, even before the moonlight could touch his face, by his assured gait. Everything about Rick was distractingly significant.

He raised a hand and waved. Michonne responded in kind as she pulled her horse, Ginger, to a stop and dismounted.

"You're back." His voice was sunshine and sweet tea. The smile in it had her smiling back.

"Hey, there, mountain man."

He rubbed a hand over his beard. "You don't like it? Carol said it made me look more mature. I know, it's a bit of a backhanded compliment, but I'm letting it go to my head all the same."

Michonne snorted. "You look feral."

"Thank you."

Laughing, they fell into step together, Michonne leading Ginger by the reins. She was not unaware of how it felt, walking at Rick's side- somehow comforting and terrifying at once. Her mind was quick to justify it. She _had_ been gone for nearly a month. These solitary hunting trips she'd been taking made it easier to crawl back into that head space she'd lived in last year.

A part of her hated these trips. Shadows and trees and the ashes of tiny campfires. The desperate quiet of a lonesome world. Sometimes she closed her eyes and expected to see Andrea when she opened them. Sometimes, dozing off, she thought she heard Mike and Terry clinking their chains. The ghosts came alive the longer she spent away from the prison. Some nights it was frighteningly easy to believe them when they insisted that nothing had changed at all.

Of course, where before she'd been directionless, now she had her quarry. Quarry whose trail had gone cold a few miles south of Woodbury. Quarry that even their best tracker had given up on.

"Ain't nothin' more we can do," Daryl had told her. "He's just gone."

Possibly he was right. But that didn't stop her from seeing the Governor in every shadow she passed, from remembering every honeyed lie he'd filled Andrea with. It didn't stop her from turning again and again to that recycled rage, the part of her that held onto things so tight she left claw marks in them. Of course, she wasn't returning home empty-handed- the pack on her saddle was brimming with all she'd scavenged- but fuck if it didn't feel like it anyway.

Yes, a part of her hated these trips. But the rest of her was a summer storm. Sometimes she worried four walls would never contain her.

Sometimes she wondered if she should even return home at all.

"Hey." Rick elbowed her. "I think I should prepare you for everything that's changed since you've been gone."

Michonne raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Oh, really. The prison got a face-lift. It's a shopping mall now." His solemn tone nearly made her laugh. "We're all fat cats, living on commercialism. I turned my cell into a Dippin' Dots."

"And what about my cell?"

"It's a Crocs store."

"Screw you."

Rick grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and she was grateful. Wherever her thoughts might have led her, he had steered her safe.

"So you're out pretty late," she remarked.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

The ghosts in him were restless again. It was easy enough to tell. Her own were quieter now but they still hovered like vultures.

"Thought I'd check the trap lines," he continued. "Make myself useful."

Michonne shook her head. _Make myself useful_. As if he spent his spare time painting his nails instead of busting his ass.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked quietly. She didn't have to elaborate for him to know what she meant. It had taken a bit of coaxing on both ends, but these days it was easier discussing their nightmares. He was the first one, the _only_ one, she confessed them to. Not even Andrea had been privy to that information.

He shrugged. "It's the same one. Down in the boiler room. Phone's ringing and I can't find it. Same shit."

"No walkers this time?" Michonne said, but she didn't really mean walkers. He still couldn't bear hearing Lori's name in casual conversation.

"No," he said. The strain in his voice knotted her chest, but it only lasted a moment. When he glanced at her, his mouth was quirked in what she thought was supposed to be a smile. "No Freddy Krueger, either, so I'm calling that a win. He's a spooky dude."

She coughed a laugh, not entirely surprised. Sometimes he recited his nightmares like he was checking off a list. Sometimes he skimmed the details in favor of something less personal. Tonight it was the latter.

"You really do need a good night's sleep," she said.

"I honestly can't remember what that's like."

"Can you remember a time when you _weren't_ a complete dork? Because that's you right now."

"This coming from the woman who sleeps in a Catwoman t-shirt?"

"Hey, my look is fantastic. You know you love it."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to suck them back in. He'd seen her in her usual nightly attire, of course, one night during a prison breach that turned out to be a false alarm. There hadn't had time to slip on pants and so Rick had gotten an eyeful of her, poised with her sword in nothing but her shirt and panties.

He hadn't said anything and neither had she. It was only after she'd returned to bed that she felt the flash burn of nerves, which she'd quickly written off as embarrassment and nothing more.

That same feeling returned now like a lightning strike. Rick glanced at her, the slightest arch to his brows. Heat swallowed her cheeks. She frowned straight ahead, casting about for something else to say. The silence was brief, but it climbed her spine and made itself a home there. The tension was so thick she thought even Ginger might be sweating.

They came in view of the prison a moment later. Flashlights cut across their faces, and the gate squealed open once the sentries confirmed their identities. Rick and Michonne hurried inside though there really was no need- the night was quiet, the closest walkers lurking halfway around the perimeter.

"It's gonna make Carl's day tomorrow, having you back," Rick said, keeping pace as she led her horse to the hitching post.

In spite of herself, Michonne smiled. "That little punk better be ready to duke it out. He still hasn't apologized for trying to tell me _Swamp Thing_ was superior to _Judge Dredd_. Hmph. My ass..."

Rick laughed. "I'm always telling him, 'Son, you _never_ piss off a woman with a katana.' The boy never listens to me."

Michonne held out a bucket of water for Ginger to drink from. "Hell hath no fury like a swordstress scorned."

"No, it doesn't." There was a pause, and then: "How long are you staying this time?"

Her spine stiffened. She breathed, slow and deep, before saying, "Not long. Just wanted to bring some supplies back."

"You know, the rest of us would be more than happy to have you home permanently."

She took a moment to admire the timbre of his voice, the way it gentled on the word "home". Then she glanced over her shoulder, carefully composed.

"I know. I just need to cross a few more sectors off my map."

It was a lie, but she wasn't sure what the truth was anymore. All she knew with any certainty was the conflicting squall inside of her, the desire to stay and the fear of that desire.

Rick nodded, wisely deciding not to push the issue. "Well, just try and cross them off as quick as you can. For some reason, we really like having you around."

She busied herself with setting down the bucket and unsaddling Ginger to hide the way his teasing warmed her. "Still haven't figured out what that something is, huh?"

"I'll let you know when I close in on it."

"Looking forward to it."

He shouldered her supply pack and turned to leave, and her gaze followed him of its own free will. She called his name before she could stop herself.

When his eyes fell on her, she felt simultaneously cornered and free.

"I do like it," she said. "The beard."

His answering grin was smug. "I'm definitely letting _that_ go to my head. And, you know for what it's worth... I like the Catwoman t-shirt."

The warmth in her veins became a full-blown wildfire, but Rick just waved goodnight and ambled away. The trials of her solitary month faded to the background.

She was glad to be home.


	2. Night Watch

A/N: Hello, guys! So it took me longer than I was hoping to get this chapter out, simply because writing anything lately has been like pulling teeth. But I'm happy to finally be posting this. Thanks so much to all who read and reviewed, it was so much more than I was expecting (and it was also a happy surprise to see a few old names as well; hello again, guys!) So without further adieu, here is another indecent helping of Richonne fluff!

2\. Night Watch

"I was a wrestler in high school."

Rick looked up from his dinner, squinting contemplatively. Across from him, Michonne innocently spooned more beans into her mouth, for all the world unconcerned with this non sequitur.

Which Rick knew was bullshit, but he pretended like it wasn't.

They were sitting in the grass near the fence, taking a break from patrolling the perimeter. Tonight was the last night Michonne would spend at the prison for a while, before taking off on another of her "hunting trips". Rick had tried insisting she rest but she'd listened about as well as he expected.

"A wrestler?" he said. "Really?"

"You sound so surprised."

"I guess it just doesn't seem like something you'd be into."

She shrugged. "I wasn't exactly. I mean, I was into anything athletic. Cross country in the fall, softball in the spring. I took gymnastics. But wrestling...wasn't an interest, it was more like a middle finger."

He chuckled. "To who?"

She batted her eyelids and purred, "The patriarchy."

His chuckle became a full-blown laugh and Michonne laughed with him.

"No, my...my P.E. teacher, Landers," she explained after a moment. "He was also the wrestling coach. And I think he prided himself on being a walking cliché. Like he was fulfilling some prophecy or something. Always angry, always aggressive. He had about the emotional range of a TV dinner, you know?"

Rick nodded without interrupting. Her voice was light, and he could only guess at how much effort it took to make it that way. No one could have ever claimed Michonne was accessible when it came to her past, and certainly no one asked about it anymore. But sometimes, on lucky occasions, she provided that information herself. Just small, seemingly trivial pieces scoured from wherever she locked them down. Like maybe they built pressure over time and she had to bleed a few of them out to relieve it.

Except Rick was beginning to suspect this was a privilege given only to him. Well, and Carl. But he never asked. It was enough that she was offering these breadcrumbs at all, and he had learned through trial and error that it was best just to listen until her story was over, instead of wondering out loud why she was confiding in him.

"And he was a misogynist prick," she continued. "Of course. A year before I took it up, my friend joined the wrestling team. First girl to join since Landers became coach. He bullied her until she quit. So _I_ joined next. Just to piss him off, you know."

Rick smiled at her wicked, angelic tone. He got a kick out of her paradoxes.

"He tried the same bullshit tactics with me, but I was expecting it. And it was rough, but...spite kept me going. I was angry more often than not in high school, so it wasn't too difficult to find my drive. And even though me and that man hated each other, I stuck with it till I graduated."

Her eyes had gone a bit distant with memory, and Rick recognized that the story was over. Still, he wasn't disappointed in the slightest. And he wasn't surprised by the ending, either.

Michonne didn't quit. He admired the hell out of her for that.

"So," he said, drawing her out of her rumination.

"So," she echoed.

"Were you any good?"

She threw him an incredulous look. "Is that a serious question?"

"It is very serious."

"I could take _you_ with my hands tied," she said loftily.

"Oh, c'mon now. Let's try to take this very serious question very seriously."

Her expression sparked, playfully dangerous. Rick bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"I _could_ take you," she said.

"I have no doubt you could take most people," he replied. "But I was a sheriff's deputy. I'm trained to get the drop on assailants."

He wasn't entirely sure why he was poking this particular bear. But the past few days, having Michonne home... It was how things were supposed to be. His family- both by blood and calamity- was complete with her there. He was going to miss her when she was gone, and tonight he just wanted to pretend like he wouldn't have to.

"You talk a pretty big game there, _Officer_ Grimes," Michonne said. "Wanna place a wager?"

"Hit me."

"If I can pin you for ten seconds, you have to refer to me as Officer Michonne for the rest of the night."

"Oh, I don't know if I can handle such high stakes."

"I'm not sure you can, either."

"Well, if _I_ pin _you_...will you stay another night?"

This drew her up short and Rick held his breath, hoping he hadn't crossed a line. But after a moment, the ridge of her shoulders relaxed and she shrugged.

"You can go ahead and ask for anything, but you won't be getting it." She rose to her feet, fixing him with a haughty stare. "I don't play to lose."

He blinked. "So. Really. We're really doing this."

"Sure are. Unless you'd rather forfeit preemptively."

Rolling his eyes, Rick stood, too. He scanned automatically for any walkers along the fence, but the world was empty and luminous with moonlight. Something swelled in his chest, some feeling he couldn't place but remembered vaguely from life before all this.

"Any ground rules?" he asked.

She smiled sweetly. "Yeah, no crying when I win, alright?"

He snorted and motioned for her to begin.

Even though he was expecting her attack, she still managed to take him by surprise. She moved quick, crouched low like a hunting cat. He darted back, hands ready to snag her, but she didn't aim where he was anticipating. She danced to the left before coming in on his right, grabbing his right arm and wrapping her free hand around the back of his neck.

She spun him off balance but he recovered enough to slip from her hold. They met and parried and grappled for dominance several times, and though Rick was stronger, it didn't take him long to figure out that he was going to lose.

She was lithe and fluid, a coil of subtle muscle and persistence that _was_ going to get the better of him. She was playing the long game, not trying to overpower him yet, just trying to wear him down.

He redoubled his efforts, drawing on his years of training, and was nearly able to trip her up. But just as he was bearing down to grab her, she ghosted out of reach. A moment later, her hands were clamping around his knees and she was sending him to the ground.

She didn't give him a second to recover. While he lay stunned on his stomach, she draped herself over him, looping her arms beneath his. One hand shackled his wrist. The other again cupped the back of his neck.

He was suddenly very aware of how hot the night was. Had the temperature changed at all since daylight? Didn't feel like it.

Michonne leaned down till her lips were level with his ear.

"Ready to taste defeat, Grimes?"

The heat of her breath on his flushed skin made him shiver, but he wasn't offered a chance to reply. Using her feet to brace herself, she rolled so that he lay on his back and she lay halfway on top of him.

The hold was firm. In any case, he forgot to fight it. Her skin glistened with sweat, starlight on dark water. Her eyes gleamed as she counted to ten and then released him, flopping onto her back at his side.

"Jesus Christ," she said and broke down in giggles, and the sound was so infectious that Rick started laughing, too.

"Alright," he said when he could catch his breath. "Officer Michonne."

"Ooh." She whistled. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah. You wear it better than I do."

They spent several more minutes on the ground, smiling up at the stars, and it was only then that he recognized that feeling from earlier.

Youth. She made him feel _young_ again. The revelation was so startling it tightened his lungs. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything other than his age. For too long, it had been the numbing monotony of getting older- which had only emphasized the ice-shock of waking up in an ended world and almost surely shaved a few years off his life.

But Michonne made magic without meaning to. She made him feel young again, and he thought maybe...maybe he did the same for her.

Eventually, he sighed. "We should make another circuit and then call it a night. Glenn and Maggie'll take over from there."

Michonne nodded and let him help her to her feet, and they started walking. Not in any hurry. Just pretending they were in a night with no end.


	3. Peanut Butter

A/N: Just a quick but super huge THANK YOU for all you readers and reviewers. You guys are the greatest! Also this chapter takes place between "Claimed" and "A", so it starts out with a bit more angst than the first two.

3\. Peanut Butter

The swing was too small. The plastic pinched Michonne's hips and creaked as she twisted absently from side to side, licking peanut butter from a spoon.

Rick and Carl were still inside the house they'd settled in for the night. It was just a little ways off the train tracks, so cramped and rundown it was really more of a shack. She couldn't stand being in there herself. She needed space to breathe, room to maneuver. Despite her exhaustion, she'd volunteered to kept watch from the playset in the yard.

She leaned her head back. There was a break in the forest canopy above and she studied the brilliant stars, feeling dull in comparison.

She couldn't get it out of her mind. The prison. Hershel. Sitting right next to him as he was executed and unable to do a damn thing to stop it. The last few days spent with Rick and Carl...that had been better. Better than wandering alone. But everything else, the home she'd found...it was just gone.

Her eyes welled, blurring constellations.

_We don't know that_, she argued. The prison was gone, yes, but the others...some of them had to have made it, right?

_Maybe they're already at Terminus, waiting for us_.

She wanted to believe it. The universe rewarded faith, didn't it?

_You know that's bullshit. It didn't reward that old man for his, did it, Michonne?_

Every nerve iced over. Her throat closed, like someone cinching it with a chain.

The voice...the voice wasn't hers. It wasn't hers but, god, it could've been for how intimately she knew it. From another life, from behind closed doors, from whispers under the sheets...

"Mike," she whispered, trembling.

She hadn't heard his voice in her head since joining the group at the prison. That hadn't stopped her from talking to him, of course, but she'd gotten used to the silence in response. To thinking that, bit by bit, she was letting him go.

Hearing him now, after everything...

She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to fade into that limbo where everything was gray and numb and meaningless again.

She didn't want to be gone.

Footsteps startled her. She snapped to alert, ready to drop the jar of peanut butter in exchange for her sword, but then she realized it was only Rick. Still, she couldn't relax entirely. Her eyes flicked back and forth, hunting instinctively for that shape, the one with the severed arms and broken jaw...

Rick sat in the swing next to her. "He's finally asleep."

It took her a moment to realize he meant Carl. She nodded. "That's good."

He'd been sleeping fitfully since the prison. He twitched a lot, kicking and whimpering. Sometimes he said Judith's name.

Rick held out a hand. Silently, Michonne passed him the jar.

"You should be sleeping, too," she said. He was steadier, regaining his strength day by day, but even now there were moments when she saw him falter. Not just physically, but mentally. She worried how much farther life could stretch him before he snapped.

He shrugged, sucking on a mouthful of peanut butter. "I don't think I could," he said. "My brain won't shut up."

She stiffened, half-expecting Mike to chime in. Even when he was alive, he'd always done that- steamrolled over everyone else to voice his opinion. Demanding to be heard.

There was only silence, but...she could feel the possibility of him. Like the uncertainty of whether or not a storm cloud would break as it passed overhead. She took a deliberate breath through her nose and replied, "Yeah. Mine won't either."

Rick squinted a bit in that considering way of his. He wasn't scrutinizing her words, she knew, rather the spaces in between. Everything she _wasn't_ saying. So many of his mannerisms had become dearly familiar, a language she'd unknowingly become fluent in. Her frown deepened realizing this.

"Look, I know I said this before," he finally said. "But thank you. For Carl. The things you do for him that I...I can't."

She glanced at him and his eyes, lit by glints of the low, rising moon, snared hers. She held them despite the sudden urge to look away.

"It's no problem." She smiled. "Kid's my best friend, too."

"Yeah, I know," Rick chuckled. "Two peas in a pod."

He passed the jar back to her. She took another spoonful. The silence between them was distinctly different from Mike's lurking hush. It was comfortable. Safe.

Rick looked up at the sky. "When Carl turned eight, Lori and I bought him this trampoline. I still remember his face, the way it lit up. He said we were the best parents from here to Pluto."

Michonne smiled. She pictured it perfectly.

"He spent all his time on that damn thing. Out there from morning to night, just...doing flips, pretending he was a stunt double in movies. We couldn't get away very often for family trips or anything like that so sometimes in the summer we let him camp out in the backyard. We went all out- ghost stories and s'mores and all that. He slept up there on his trampoline.

"One of the nights I was out there with him, I was making up stories about the stars. He was such an imaginative kid, Michonne, so creative. I was just trying to keep up with that. But he...he was a step ahead of his old man."

"Huh. Imagine that," she teased.

He kicked her lightly. "Hey, I thought I was doing a pretty good job. But there I was, telling him that stars were windows into other worlds, and in the middle of my fantastic story he shakes his head and says, 'Dad, unlike a star, my brain isn't full of hot gas.'"

Michonne reeled with laughter, nearly falling out of her swing. Rick wrapped an arm around her to keep her from tumbling to the ground.

"You didn't have to find that quite so hilarious," he said, though he was snickering right along with her.

"Sorry." There wasn't an ounce of sincerity in her voice. "That little man is my hero."

"He is something else. You know, after that I- oh. You've got something..."

With his free hand, he reached up to brush a daub of peanut butter from her cheek, which she must have smudged attempting to keep her ass in the swing. She could tell it was an unthinking action. He looked entirely unconcerned, his eyes still crinkled with amusement. His thumb, though calloused, grazed her skin gently.

Her nerves awakened under it.

She flushed with heat, her breath suspended somewhere in her throat. She wondered if she should move away but there wasn't an inch of her that wanted to.

Another moment and Rick caught up to her tension. He blinked at his thumb, like he was only now aware of its existence, and then he met her gaze. Some warm, fluttery thing curled and uncurled in her stomach.

He coughed and pulled away. "Sorry. Peanut butter."

"Right. Thanks." She smiled calmly while her insides blazed. "I'm gonna...walk the perimeter. See what I can see."

"I can do that-"

"I got it." She handed him the jar, careful to avoid touching his fingers. "You try and sleep."

She slipped into the trees surrounding the house, setting a slow, steady pace and hoping her pulse would follow. The feel of his skin on hers lingered, a spark burning itself into memory. So she was slow to realize that Mike's voice, that heavy shadow in her mind, was gone. When she did, her stride wavered.

What might've taken hold otherwise, extinguished in one conversation. And it wasn't just that she wasn't alone this time. It was Carl and Rick specifically. Even without a home...she didn't feel homeless. Not with them. And she knew that even if they couldn't find anyone else, even if no one was waiting for them at Terminus, things would still be okay. If they had each other. They could carry each other through their grief to the other side.

She'd lost four walls and a roof, but she hadn't lost her home at all.

Her home carried on with her to the end of the line.


	4. Palm Reading

A/N: Well, hello, guys! It's been a little while and I am so sorry for the temporary hiatus. I was definitely not expecting for there to be such a gap between posting chapters but here we are, and honestly all I can say is that trying to write lately has been...a bitch. But I finally, _finally _finished this chapter, and I really hope you'll enjoy it. It takes place in the late s5 Alexandria era, which I know some of you aren't fond of (but it's a personal favorite of mine). I cannot express how much it means to me, everyone who has previously read and reviewed, and I just want y'all to know that you have all my love and gratitude xx.

4\. Palm Reading

**_Michonne_**

"The Mount of Apollo is right up here, and you see how it intersects with Saturn? This means your tendency toward optimism directly influences both your wisdom and your sense of responsibility."

"So...I'm a pretty rad person. Awesome."

Michonne grinned at Tara and tried hard to pretend she wasn't scanning everything in her peripherals.

_This is a party, _she thought, though it wasn't even really that. College had seen her dragged to several ragers by her friends, which was how she'd discovered they weren't really her thing. Before the world ended, she would have preferred a quiet gathering like this but tonight she walked a fine line between forgetting and remembering where she was.

Tara sympathized, by her expression. Her hands, still resting in Michonne's, gave a gentle squeeze.

"Everyone seems to be having a good time," she said, though she sounded more hopeful than entirely certain.

Michonne nodded. "Yeah."

Reluctantly, her attention flickered to Rick, where he stood in a corner with a woman named Jessie. He was smiling, drinking some kind of whiskey, but the intensity in his eyes twisted her stomach.

Swallowing hard, she glanced around the room at the rest of her family, acutely aware of the absence of Bob, Beth, Tyreese...

But there was Glenn, laughing with Noah by the window. Nearby, Maggie sniffed tentatively at a candle and smiled like it was the most wonderful thing in the world. Across the room, Carl argued playfully with a group of kids his age and the weight in Michonne's chest lightened a bit.

"Yeah," she repeated.

Tara smiled. "I can't read palms or anything, but I predict...we're gonna like it here. Or maybe that's just me being an incurable optimist." She shrugged. "So how did you get into palm reading anyway? It doesn't really seem like something you'd... I mean, it just doesn't seem like you."

"A group of friends and I got into it in high school. It was mostly just for fun, but I've always...I don't know. I've always found it fascinating how things like palm reading or astrology relate to people individually. Not like I put a lot of stock in it. It's basically just mirroring personality archetypes, you know. But I still...just enjoy correlating shit."

"You like analyzing people is what you mean."

Michonne laughed. "Yeah, I do."

Probably why she'd made such a good lawyer, though she didn't mention this to Tara. Despite lowering her guard over the past few months, she wasn't prepared for her past to be known absolutely. Even thinking of it made her feel...back there. Caged.

"Well, thanks for analyzing me," Tara said. "I'm gonna hunt up another beer. You want one?"

"I'm okay, thanks."

Tara bid her farewell with a fist bump. Michonne watched her go, running a finger around the rim of her own cup. Its half-drunk contents sat warming, even though the flavor was admittedly quite good and a part of her was tempted to down it in one go, fuck the consequences. It was so long since she'd had _anything_, she was already feeling a faint buzz. She told herself that was the point, but after everything...

Because she couldn't entirely bury the instinct, she continued surveying the room.

Rosita was propped with one foot against the wall, whiskey in hand while she read from a book in the other. The thoughtful serenity on her face was grudging but sincere, a far cry from her usual prickly persona.

Deanna and Reg clustered around Abraham, who bounced a gleeful Judith in his arms. They all laughed at her sunny giggle, and it struck Michonne that this was the first she'd seen Abraham interact with Judith. She never imagined he could be so good with kids.

By the unlit fireplace, Eugene chattered animatedly with a young Alexandrian woman, whose name Michonne had misplaced in the sea of all other new acquaintances. Surprisingly, the woman seemed just as eager to talk to him, like they were old friends reuniting, though she was sure they'd never met before.

Her eyes lingered on the long, ragged scar running the length of the woman's right arm. According to Aaron, she'd wandered alone for a year before finding this place, and was unsurprisingly feral the first few months after arriving. Michonne thought she might be one of very few Alexandrians who understood what her and her family were going through. But the others...

Misgiving skittered in her belly. She knew virtually nothing about these people and she was right in the center of them. Like Woodbury, walled in by strangers and their ignorance...

_Don't let yourself do this, _she thought fiercely. _Don't put yourself back there._

These people had walls.

_Woodbury had walls. Prison, too._

These people had stability.

_But they didn't fight for it. Not really._

_These people have _us.

And the thought was so definitive it shut that other voice right up.

_These people have us and we're all going to make it this time. No more dying. No more going back to that place. _

She took a defiant sip from her cup.

The couch jostled. She struggled to swallow like a normal fucking person as Rick sat next to her and said, "Evening, ma'am, how much for a reading?"

His southern accent was thick as honey, his cheeks flush with color. She had the disconcerting urge to run a hand down those cheeks, smooth now he'd shaved, and feel the warmth beneath.

Primly she set her cup on the coffee table, though it was mostly to give her time to rearrange her expression. Then she said, very seriously, "One Big Cat bar."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty steep."

"I'm pretty good."

"Well, I may have to owe you."

"That's fine, I'll charge you interest. Now give me your hands."

His fingers grazed her palms. Everything narrowed to that touch. She was no longer in an unfamiliar house, surrounded by unfamiliar people. She was a heat wave under stars.

"You have long palms," she began. "Long fingers."

Long, deft fingers she'd watched him do a million things with. And that she could only imagine all the _other _things he could do with...

She stuttered over her next breath and had to clear her throat.

"The element they represent is water, which means that you are sensitive, intuitive and deeply swayed by your emotions."

"I'm sensitive," Rick repeated. His lips were turning up in a smirk; her answering smile was automatic.

"Oh, yes, very," she replied. Her eyes drifted from his lips down his throat, his chest, lower...

_How _sensitive, she wondered...

"There's nothing wrong with sensitivity," she said, keenly aware of the bead of sweat rolling down the back of her overheated neck. "Besides, the element only serves as a basis to start my reading. Here. Flip your hands over, we'll start with your heart line."

Time swelled as she trailed her fingers back and forth along the creases in his palms. She swore she felt each individual second sliding past her like the sweat tickling her neck, yet she absorbed it all in a blur.

There was something about touching Rick here- on a couch surrounded by family and strangers, the taste of beer on her tongue like things were _normal._ There was something horribly and deliciously exposed about it. It dizzied her.

During this, however, she was vividly aware of two things.

The first was that Jessie was nowhere to be seen. Was she in another room? Had she left? She hoped the latter was the case, though she couldn't help a faint stirring of guilt in response. Jessie seemed nice enough, and Rick... Rick had been with no one since his wife. Michonne was well aware he had felt alone so many times, even with the others. She knew that for all the alienation it brought, he found no comfort in leading. And she certainly wasn't blind to the way he acted around Jessie.

But that was just it, the source of her unease, at least partially. Whenever she saw the two of them together, she wrestled with the instinct to keep them apart. And it wasn't because when she closed her eyes at night, her mind always found its way back to him, and it wasn't because of moments like now, when he ignited her blood in ways she wasn't quite willing to reconcile.

It was because when he looked at Jessie, his eyes became shadowed with a desperation she knew all too well. She'd seen it in Andrea, the Governor pouring his lies thick as honey. She'd felt it herself, so many times, before Rick and Carl and _everyone _in her new family brought her back.

They'd spent so long out there, rudderless in a sea of the dead, and they'd done so many things that made them ache with the strain of remembering, and _now_, _this place_. This place was a glimpse of _something _off in the distance, maybe a ship, maybe even the shore, and the possibility of that was almost maddening.

She couldn't fault him for the longing. But she had watched him lose pieces of himself in getting here, in getting all of them here. And she worried the first glimpse of something that might fill that void was enough to shake him unsteady.

It took her a moment to realize, so tangled in her own thoughts, that she'd stopped reading Rick's palm entirely. She wasn't sure when she'd drifted into silence, or for how long, but her fingertips were tracing the constellation of scars along his knuckles and Rick was simply watching her.

And there. That was the second thing she'd noticed.

His eyes. They were clear now, focused on her. Away from Jessie, away from pretending he was shatterproof, they lost their haunted edge.

For the space of a heartbeat, nothing else felt as real as those eyes.

Michonne reminded herself to breathe. Then, delicately, she pulled her hands back.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I was just...away."

Understanding softened his gaze. "I know. I've been doing the same since we got here."

They paused to look around; Michonne took the opportunity to reassert her grip on herself. It was getting late, but the party carried on at the same pace. None of the Alexandrians seemed to want to call it a night. Carl had taken Judith back to the house, but the rest of her family continued playing along unexpectedly well.

Although...Sasha. One of the last to arrive, she now wandered aimlessly through the crowd, looking lost and skittish and raw. Michonne felt the familiar pinch of grief and self-recognition at the sight, but before she could decide to go to her, Rick spoke up.

"I want the others to fit in here," he said.

Slowly, Michonne narrowed her eyes. She read everything he wasn't saying clear as day.

"And what about you?"

Rick looked back at her. The shadows were seeping in again.

"I want to."

"Do you?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended.

He smiled without much humor. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Michonne sat back, jaw tightening. _Are you here? _she wanted to ask him. _Are you really here? _But this wasn't the place for that conversation. In any case...

Was _she _really here right now? A chill crept down her spine.

When the silence continued, Rick reached out as if to take her hand again. The letter "A" stood out in garish red below his knuckles. She'd spotted Jessie's younger son offering the stamps, carefree and smiling, but all she'd been able to think of was the train car.

Rick's fingers hovered inches from hers before pulling away.

"I'm gonna get you that Big Cat bar as soon as I can," he said and stood. "I'll see you, Michonne."

She blinked and nodded quickly. "See you."

Silently she watched him go, feeling his absence like the first draft of winter. The party felt like another world, a bubble of warmth and laughter she was irreversibly separate from. And she couldn't decide if she was glad about that or not. She had a notion she might suffocate in that world.

Her hands rested in her lap, palms up, waiting to hold something.

**_Rick_**

He wasn't sure where he was going, wandering the wide arc of the community. He wasn't going home...if he was even prepared to call it that. He wasn't going to _the house_, and certainly not back to that party. He'd had enough to drink and he was sure, with as low as his tolerance was right now, that he'd be feeling it in the morning.

Patrolling. That was what he decided mid-circuit that he was doing. That was what Deanna had decided he should be doing. If he were being completely honest, it was what these people needed but did they really understand what that meant?

He shook his head frustratedly. Refusing to carry guns. Throwing goddamn _parties_. These people had no clue, not fucking one.

Still, the windows of each house he passed dragged at his attention. What he'd told Daryl was true. He and Lori used to drive through neighborhoods like this all the time. They'd made date nights out of it, parking on dark streets, kissing out their voyeuristic fantasies and all the while knowing they'd never make it.

_Well. Honey, I'm here._

He rolled his thumb over his wedding band, feeling it twist loosely. It hadn't fit right for two weeks now. He wondered if he should just take it off for good, and the notion needled his chest with something close to panic.

Another turn of the ring and his thoughts turned with it. He wasn't surprised when they landed on Jessie, though he couldn't say it pleased him, either. Nothing pleased him about this particular development if he were being honest, but he couldn't seem to stop his eyes being drawn to her. Just like the windows in the houses, she was...another life. A life that, after all he'd done, he doubted he had any right to claim and yet he _wanted_. Not just for him. For Carl, for Judith, for _all _of his family.

Lori had wanted that life, too. Instead she'd bled to death in the boiler room of a prison and he hadn't been there, he hadn't been there, and now he was here but was he _really _here? When he closed his eyes he was still in those woods, or the church, or the train car. When he closed his eyes he still saw Bob's feverish face, saw Beth's head snap back from the bullet, saw Tyreese close his eyes and never reopen them.

When he looked at Jessie, he saw those houses in those old neighborhoods. He saw backyard picnics and Sunday pancakes and coming home every night knowing everything was just how he'd left it. The stability, the routine, even the _boredom_. God, the fucking luxury of banality.

And...a part of him knew. A part of him knew that whatever he felt for her was only as real as an idea. A concept. Something to give a name and a face to the things he'd lost, the things they'd _all _lost, and that he'd been fighting so hard to get back. But did that mean he needed it any less?

_And what about Michonne?_

The thought rocked him back on his heels. He realized dimly that he was stopped in front of the house that now belonged to his family.

What _about _Michonne?

His neck prickled uncomfortably. His hands felt suddenly warm, as though she'd left behind imprints of heat in his skin.

He hadn't dared ask where her mind went while she was touching him. All he knew was that somewhere in the middle of her reading she'd gone silent but continued stroking his hands.

And he hadn't stopped her. Hadn't tried to rouse her from her trance, hadn't moved at all. He'd just sat, watching those thoughts swim behind the twin infinities of her eyes.

What about Michonne? There was nothing banal about her but she was home. His best friend and closest confidante. The woman who knew how to make Carl laugh even after the world ended a second time. The one who saw him most clearly and still accepted him. She was _real _in a way Jessie wasn't. And looking into _her _eyes-

_Stop._

His heart kicked in panic again. Huffing a shaky breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly shook his head back and forth.

"Stop, stop, stop," he whispered.

No. No. He wouldn't finish that thought. There wasn't even a thought to finish, his mind was simply as aimless as his feet. Feet that he forced after a moment to move, this time in the direction of his family's house.

He was just drunk and that was that.

Just drunk and caged by the past.

* * *

A/N: So as well as focusing on a fluffy Richonne scene, I also wanted to try and give a little more insight into the whole Jessie thing. I know a lot of people really hate the whole plot line and how he was portrayed during it, and I honestly can't say I loved it either, but since I'm sticking (mostly) to canon, it didn't feel right to just gloss over it. That being said, I hope it was enjoyable. As always, thank you a million times for reading, and let me know what you think!


	5. Dancing

A/N: Hello, all! I'm very excited to have finally finished this chapter, which I was looking forward to writing very much. It's a well-worn trope, I know, but I love it, and hopefully you all enjoy it, too. Most importantly, a super huge THANK YOU to all of my readers and reviewers. Although I am still too shy to thank each of you directly (unless I already know you're cool with it lol), I want you to know that I appreciate each and every one of you, and your support honestly means so much to me. This chapter contains gratuitous fluff, humor, and a little bit of Team Family bonding (cuz I can't help myself). Hope y'all enjoy!

5\. Dancing

**_Rick_**

The afternoon was lengthening its stride toward evening, and Rick was never more relieved to be home.

He, Tara and Glenn had returned late to Alexandria after their acquisitions run went from an estimated few hours to the entire day. Luckily they had a significant haul to show for it. Though there was more they needed to gather- there always was- he felt optimistic about their chances.

Truth be told, he was feeling optimistic about a lot of things lately. The stark difference between now and the preceding month left him breathless; he treated this hope as delicately as he would the newborn sprouts in the garden, but there was nothing fragile in the way it clung to him all the same.

The same hope swelled as he spotted Carl walking down the steps of the infirmary, tossing a tennis ball from hand to hand.

Nearly a month since Carl was shot and he was doing incredibly well. The moment Denise cleared him to leave his hospital bed, he was all energy, aiding the community however he could in between physical therapy sessions. He remained restricted to the Safe Zone, which frustrated him to no end, but even so, his resilience was unquenchable.

Carl smiled and loped toward him. "You're back!"

"Sorry I'm late," Rick said, leaning in to hug him. "How were things here?"

"Fine. Daryl's watching Judith so Michonne could have a break. Oh! And Eugene scored a bunch of comics while he was out with Mason. We're splitting them up three ways, me, him and Michonne."

Rick grinned. "You read through 'em as quick as you did last time, soon there won't be any new to read at all."

"Yeah... Guess I'll just make my own then."

He said it casually, but there was an edge to his tone that made Rick think he wasn't entirely joking.

He peered at him. "You want to make comic books?"

Carl shrugged, scuffing one foot self-consciously across the ground. "I don't know, maybe. We're gonna be here a while, right? Gotta have something to do besides gardening and hunting walkers."

Rick blinked. Growing up, Carl had always wanted to be an astronaut. Those dreams, of course, withered with the rest of humanity when the world ended and since then, nothing had sprouted from their remnants. Even when things were at their best at the prison, Carl had never talked about the future with such shy enthusiasm, never shown any indication that he thought there might _be _a life outside of gardening and hunting walkers.

But he was talking about it now.

It was like that first twitch of consciousness after Carl was shot, his weak fingers gripping Rick's, and Rick thinking _"I've been here before, but this time it's different. This time it's permanent." _

His son was planning for a future. Not just that, but one where he _lived _instead of simply surviving, one where he was _happy_. He thought his heart might burst.

"Well." He cleared the lump from his throat. "I think that's a fine idea, son. There's just one tiny stipulation."

"What's that...?"

"Well, I'd be mighty offended if you didn't feature your old man in said comics."

"Oh." The wariness faded from Carl's face. "Yeah, of course. Hero or villain?"

"Huh." Rick pretended to think about it. "Put me down for villain. And a ray gun."

Carl laughed and elbowed him. "Alright, it's a done deal. Hey, I'm just gonna grab my copy of Super Smash Bros. from the house and then I'm heading back to Denise and Tara's, okay?"

Rick frowned sternly, though it was mostly just for show. "Your chores done?"

"Yes, Dad, hours ago. Besides, Tara and I are battling to determine the _ultimate champion. __And _Abraham bet that I would win, _and _Denise says it technically counts as PT."

"Well, in that case I guess you'd better get going. Not too late, though."

"'Kay. Later!" Carl hurried off in the direction of the house.

Rick continued his circuit around the neighborhood, smiling softly as he passed by open windows and creaking porch swings and all the people he kindled hope for.

Carol was chatting with Aaron and Eric outside of the pantry. The garage door was open, letting out a spill of fluorescent glow that chased away the twilight; Olivia bustled about inside. Aaron had his arm around Eric's waist, and Eric smiled up at him like every word he said was laced with sunshine.

Sasha and Gabriel made their way to the gate, rifles in hand for a few hours of night training. Gabriel had surprised them all by willingly requesting firearms lessons, and then again by being good at it. He was fast on his way to joining the regular pool of lookouts for guard shifts.

They passed Abraham, sprawled on his front porch in a pose that did not at all look comfortable. When he spotted Sasha, his mustache twitched with the hint of a smile. He flashed her the peace sign.

She let out a huff- Rick couldn't tell if it was amusement or exasperation- and returned the gesture.

Halfway round the community, a gruff voice hailed him.

"You're late."

Rick turned to see Daryl walking toward him, Judith sound asleep and cradled in his arms. He examined her face, the peace on it, and felt lighter.

"You run into trouble?"

"Just your average end-of-the-world bullshit."

Daryl nodded, following his gaze. "Didn't wanna sleep for a while there. Been walkin' her around out here for a good hour. 'Chonne said she's teethin'?"

"Yeah. Been hoping to find some teething rings while I've been out but no luck."

"You got an extra toothbrush lyin' around? Stick it in the fridge a few minutes 'n' let her chew on it."

Rick peered at him. This wasn't the first time Daryl had shared some insight into caring for children.

"How'd you learn that?"

Daryl shrugged and chewed his lip. "Old family friend. Didn't have too many, but..." He grunted, obviously relegating the rest of his explanation to that. "She ran a daycare."

Rick nodded, running a hand over Judith's curls. It was clear from the way Daryl fidgeted that he wanted to change the subject, so he simply said, "Thanks for watching her."

"Anytime."

Rick squinted. "Actually, not anytime. I plan on heading back out in a few days. I was hoping you'd come, too."

Daryl stared him down silently. Rick sighed.

"Look, I know what you're feeling. I get it. But I need your skills out there. I'm not just talking recruitment."

"Y'need people here," Daryl growled, and Rick knew that their thoughts were the same. The invaders, those _Wolves_. They couldn't let that happen again. He wouldn't allow it.

"We're better prepared now. Everyone in here knows how to use a weapon, everyone knows what to do in case of an emergency. We are working _toward _something, Daryl. I- I see now. I didn't see it before, but...you were right. We can't be afraid to let people in. That's how we survive."

Daryl shifted from foot to foot, eyes flicking back and forth like he expected to be attacked at any moment.

The sight stung. Because Rick could feel it in his bones, the echo of that animal he had been upon arriving here. It howled sometimes, clawing to resurface.

He wouldn't allow that, either.

He leaned closer to Daryl, raising a placating hand. "I know what happened to you out there was-"

"Man, you just said it," Daryl snapped. "These people are so qualified, take one of _them_. I'm stayin' here, I'm doin' what needs to be done here." He backed away, careful not to jostle Judith. "Finish your rounds. I'll take her back to the house for ya."

"I can do that-"

"Nah. I got it."

Rick decided not to push the issue; he had a feeling Judith calmed him. "Thank you."

"Like I said. Anytime."

Concern settled like low-hanging clouds in his belly. Daryl couldn't stay caged in here forever, that much was clear. He hadn't outgrown that wild edge the others had and Rick knew he never would. It was just what called to his blood. He craved the freedom outside the walls, despite the grit and danger, but he clearly wasn't ready to address this after being double-crossed out on the road.

In any case, Rick wasn't sure he was in a position to judge. His own wildness upon arriving here had disintegrated into violence. He and Pete-

But he stopped that thought cold. He wasn't- he couldn't think about any of that. Not Pete and certainly not-

Just...he couldn't.

Not yet.

**_Michonne_**

Michonne paused in her workout at a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" she hollered.

"At the risk of sounding like a vampire, I was hoping to be invited inside, as I come bearing the latest and thereby last issue of _Harrow County_, among other paraphernalia."

She rolled her eyes, though it was more good-natured than truly annoyed.

"Come in, Eugene."

"Much obliged." He opened the door. "And I do give you my word that I am not, in any respect, a Creature of the Night."

"Thanks, I was worried you might be lying about that."

Michonne eased herself back onto the couch, savoring the burn in her muscles. Tricep dips weren't her favorite, but they were pretty damn effective.

She raised an eyebrow as Eugene stepped into the room, carrying a fairly sizable stack of comics and a CD case balanced on top. "Wow. You and Mason really did score while you were out, didn't you?"

"Wh-what?"

Slowly, she smirked. "The comics, Eugene."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, I thought it was quite a respectable haul." He held them out to her. "Take your pick. I already gave Carl first dibs."

"Yeah, he came in here bragging about it a little bit ago." She faked a glare. "Thanks for letting him take all the good ones."

Eugene shrugged. "Maybe you shouldn't have lost the coin toss."

"You do realize I could carve you in two?"

"Ever since facing down my own mortality via walker invasion last month, I find I enjoy tempting fate."

She snorted, though she supposed on some level this was partially true. He'd spent the past month learning to fight and defend the group, thanks mostly to Mason, the Alexandrian with the scar on her arm who patiently offered him lessons. Now he volunteered for patrol shifts and acquisition runs and everything in between, and Michonne found she had forgiven him for his previous cowardice. Mostly.

"Hey, tell Mason thanks again for the CD," she said. "I really love it."

With Eugene's help, Mason had managed to scrounge up all the tools she needed to burn CDs for everyone, picking songs she thought they might like. She had a talent for it.

"Oh, of course, ma'am, she'll be happy to hear it."

She nodded to his CD case. "I'm assuming that's the one she made for you?"

"Actually, she was kind enough to provide me with two." There was a hint of smugness in his tone.

"_Two, _huh? You listened to them yet?"

"No, as Mason requested that we listen to them together."

She stared. "Together."

"Yes."

"Really."

"Yes. What?"

Michonne motioned to the case. "Gimme. Let me see."

Wordlessly he handed it over, fidgeting his fingers while she read the track list scribbled on the back. Her eyes widened with each one.

"Eugene. These are all _really _romantic songs."

He stopped fidgeting. "They are?"

"Yeah. She is definitely putting the moves on you tonight."

Eugene blushed to the tips of his ears. "That's- that's not- I think you are drawing some very bold and inaccurate conclusions."

"I never draw inaccurate conclusions."

"Now you're being completely ridiculous-"

The creak of the front door interrupted him, and a brisk October gust carried a familiar greeting into the living room.

"Anyone home?"

Ignoring the flutter in her chest, she called back, "Hey, Rick."

He appeared a moment later, sporting walker stains and a serene smile that made the house feel warmer.

"Hey, Michonne, Eugene."

"Evening, Rick, Michonne and I were just arguing."

"Of course. About which comic this time?"

"Actually it was about-" Michonne cut off with a grin at the glare Eugene threw her. "Music this time," she finished.

"Ah. Well, don't let me stand in the way of your debate. I'm gonna hit the shower. When I come back, I expect to hear who won."

"Can I assume you're betting on Michonne?" Eugene inquired.

"Without question," Rick replied and jogged upstairs.

Eugene smirked, but it disappeared as he turned back to her. "Um. Excuse me, but I cannot let this go unresolved... That conclusion you drew, about Mason and the music and her intentions. Well. She wouldn't be- or, rather what I mean to say is... Do you really think so?"

She smiled, handing the CD and the remaining comics back to him. "I really do."

He smiled, too, a wide one that lit up his face. "Well. I thank you kindly for your insight. I should probably be going. I need to get ready for my- to prepare for my...appointment-"

"_Date_..."

"Y-yes, that. But also, I don't wish to intrude on your and Rick's time. Now that I am no longer journeying the harrowing road with Abraham and Rosita, I am averse to being a third wheel."

She stiffened. "_Excuse_ me?"

"It's possible I am misusing the term."

His unapologetic tone suggested otherwise. Michonne chucked a comic at him.

"Out. Get out."

Eugene snatched the comic and fled, not looking nearly frightened enough. Still scowling, she called after him, "Good luck!"

A distant, hollered "Thank you!" made her snort.

Alone, she sat in silence, thumbing absently through her comics and listening to the white noise of the shower running upstairs. Her thoughts echoed the sound, whirring and unremitting. She was suddenly incredibly conscious of the fact that Judith was asleep, and Carl was out of the house, and Rick was upstairs, humming, wet...naked...

She stood, quick enough to make her head spin, and strode to the stereo in the corner. Her CD was already in there. Her heart thumped strangely as she pressed play, drumming out the introductory beat to its own song.

It kept up this uneven rhythm as she sat back down and pretended to read. She couldn't concentrate on a single panel. All the colors and words bled together.

_What the hell are you doing?_

She couldn't tell if the voice was Mike's or her own, but the question was valid and demanded an answer she didn't have.

All she could think with any coherency was that Deanna had asked her what she wanted for _herself_. Not for survival, not to keep someone else alive, but solely for her own happiness. Every day that question hounded her, and she was working up to it, she was, and tonight...

Other people were off...listening to music. Why shouldn't she?

Her posture was rigid enough that her muscles began to ache. Her mind ran in circles until she heard Rick exit the bathroom. She scrambled to reposition herself in a sedate pose, and by the time he returned to the living room she was lounging like a sphinx, head back, eyes closed. Perfectly cool and composed. Yep.

The cushion bounced as he collapsed next to her and let out a gusty sigh.

"Eugene head out?"

"Yep. To Mason's."

"Like always."

"To listen to the CDs she made him."

"That's nice."

"She's gonna ride him like she's got a sunset to get to."

Rick spluttered with laughter and she grinned.

"_Shit_, Michonne."

"What? I'm just speaking the truth."

"Yeah, I acknowledge that. And it's about fucking time. Wasn't sure how much longer they could keep dancing around their feelings."

"Right? I mean, imagine having such _little _self-awareness."

The song changed, something slow and distractingly romantic.

Levity lingered on her face, but her ribs clenched closed around her heart. Rick turned his smile on her. She flashed him the weakening remains of her own.

_What do you want for _you?

Why the fuck was this so hard?

"I remember this song," he said after a moment. "Reminds me of my homecoming dance, senior year."

Shakily she breathed out, grateful for the distraction from her unsteady nerves.

"You went to homecoming?"

"Yeah. Did you not?"

"No, I did. I just...can't picture you there."

That wasn't entirely true, however. She just didn't want to confess to the image it conjured up. Him looking handsome in a dark suit, outlined in multicolored party lights, his hands warm and firm around her waist...

She cleared her throat. "What, um, what did you wear?"

"What did I _wear_?"

"Yeah. I wanna know if I could've been seen with you." It was a struggle making her voice sound teasing and not wispy.

"Oh, it wasn't my outfit you would've had to worry about."

Warily, she leaned back. "Oh, no..."

Rick held up a hand as he continued. "Now, before I tell you this, I think you should recall that there were certain styles back in the day that may or may not have aged very well-"

"What."

"And I think it should be noted that there were certain things that _everyone _was doing-"

"What."

"I had a perm. Possibly with extensions. You could say it was a mullet."

"_What?!_"

"Everyone was getting them!"

Michonne fell to the side, shaking with laughter.

"Hey, I got a lot of compliments that night-" Rick tried defending himself, which only spurred another round of cackles from Michonne. He sat back and waited, pursed lips wrestling his own amusement.

"Oh...oh my god," she said, catching her breath. "Please. _Please_ tell me that was just for the dance."

"It was," he replied, trying and failing to glare at her. "Lori tried convincing me to get it again but I wasn't about to sit another two hours to have my hair done. Can't say it's my thing."

Michonne nodded. "Ah."

She hoped it didn't show on her face, but Lori's name ran through her like a stinger. Which was ridiculous. It was unfair of her to be hurt by Rick remembering his wife. He probably thought about her all the time. She probably whispered in his head like a ghost.

She didn't realize the song had changed until Rick elbowed her.

"Wanna dance?"

She startled. "What?"

"I just felt I should prove that I'm worth being seen with, despite, you know, a few stylistic mistakes."

Her pulse thrummed. The song was something more upbeat this time, by an artist she didn't know but thought she'd like to hear more of; Mason really did have a talent.

Right then, this was all she wanted. This song, this dance, and him.

She took his hand.

Falling into the rhythm was like diving into water. An effortless, slow-build exhilaration that drowned her hesitation. She missed this. She used to dance all the time before the world ended, hours upon hours, with friends and alone. This was the first time in years that she'd let herself return to this joy.

Rick was all confidence, smiling wider at the growing delight on her face. The uncertainty tangling her heart loosened its grip.

"You're really good," he said.

"Is that surprise I hear in your voice?" she responded.

"No."

He brushed nearer, one hand firm in hers, and god, she wanted that other touching her waist, her back, her neck.

"I know how amazing you are, Michonne," he murmured. "There's never been a doubt in my mind."

Something funny happened in her throat, something like a sigh, something like a plea for his hands, _him_, but she swallowed before she could make a sound.

When she could trust her voice again, she said, "Yeah, you better."

The playlist carried them through two more lively songs before drifting into a slow one. Without missing a beat, Rick pulled her close, his hand finally finding the small of her back. The action was so gentle, her eyes prickled with unexpected tears.

"Does this make up for my less discerning choices?" he asked. His breath warmed her neck. She felt the sandpaper graze of his five o'clock shadow against her cheek.

She giggled. "It does."

He hummed. There was a smile in the sound. They turned in their own small orbit.

The song changed places with another. Slow again, but her heart was outrunning it. Something had shifted in the space between them, no longer subtle enough for her to ignore it.

She didn't want to ignore it. She wanted, she wanted-

"I'm sorry."

Their rhythm stuttered a bit. Her brows furrowed.

"What?"

He wasn't looking at her anymore. He was hyperfocused on her shoulder.

"Before. That whole thing- with Jessie, I..."

Her expression leveled out into careful neutrality.

"You know, coming here, I thought...I was the most myself that I would ever be," he continued. "I thought our time out there, after the prison, and Terminus...those men on the side of the road-"

They both flinched.

"I thought that had stripped me to the base level of who I was, my definitive self." He laughed once, low and hollow. "Shit, what a depressing thought."

A shadow flickered in her belly. Memories roiling up from the well where she kept them.

"So when we came here, and I saw the houses, I saw the _people_, I just... I felt like everyone was starting over again, but I wasn't. We died before, again and again and again, but those past lives, they weren't done with us. I didn't get how nobody else could see it. I felt rabid, dragged into a fucking zoo, Michonne, I just _lost _it."

She blinked rapidly before the tears could fall. It was the most disorienting thing, she thought. Seeing yourself so clearly in someone else.

"I analyzed everything through the lens of this identity. And with Jessie... I _wanted _to forget. I wanted that blissful ignorance from life before, I wanted numbness."

He paused. The music continued, but they stopped moving.

"It wasn't her," he finally said. "It- it wasn't _her _that I wanted. At all. I just wanted not to feel...so..."

He shook his head and fell silent. Michonne watched him, feeling as weak as if she'd been the one confessing to him.

Then she wiped a thumb beneath both her eyes and said, "It wasn't you."

He looked up. She held his gaze.

"That definitive self you thought you were, wasn't you at all. That wasn't _us _out there. We caged ourselves in bars to survive. We hid who we were, so no one could take any more from us. That wasn't us at all."

He didn't flinch from the ferocity in her voice, but something unfolded behind his eyes. He wore the look of a man who had given up trying to explain a dream, only to have it told back to him by someone who had closed their eyes and seen it for themselves.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I know that now."

She nodded. "Good."

"I just...needed to tell you."

She didn't know if her heart was breaking or coming back together.

The song changed. A cover of a song she used to love.

Tentatively, Rick smiled. "Are you done dancing?"

She could've said yes. She could've taken this night for what it was and gone up to bed and pushed it all out of her mind.

She cupped her hand more firmly behind his neck.

"With you?" she said. "Never."

Joy backlit the blue in his eyes.

They spun again in their intimate circle, and he moved as if a great weight had fallen from his shoulders.

Cords of confused emotions unspooled around her. Each new melody seemed to drive her toward that resolve she was striving so hard to reach. They danced through the entirety of Michonne's playlist, and when that came to an end Rick retrieved his own CD and they danced to that.

Everything was heat, hands, him. Her heart thundered its song, tumbling to a climax she trembled to consider but refused to stop.

She _wanted. _She had wanted for _so long_.

Rick twirled her around the coffee table and she fell tighter into his embrace, laughing. The fire stirring within her consumed every part, rose to the surface like a heat wave. She was hot, restless. A spark looking to jump to new kindling.

Her nipples- hard, straining at the fabric of her shirt- brushed against Rick's chest. She bit back a groan.

Rick eyed her intently, like he was drinking in every inch of her. Like he felt that want moving just beneath her skin.

"Michonne," he breathed, and the low, husky sound made her _ache_.

She swallowed. Her heart was a bird, singing, fluttering, demanding.

"Rick-"

A figure moved past the window. Michonne jumped back, out of Rick's arms, and that bird in her chest plummeted, shot right out of the sky.

Rick blinked, startled.

"Carl's home," she said, her voice rough and wild, and rushed to turn the music off right as he walked through the door.

Just like that, the fire was gone. All the doubt snapped back into place, leaving her dizzy, leaving her cold. She couldn't get her breathing right.

What the fuck was she doing? If Carl hadn't come home when he did... Fuck, she'd almost-

Fear quieted the thought. She turned away from the stereo in a daze.

She didn't look at Rick while they were bidding Carl goodnight, or when she suggested that Rick get some sleep, too. She didn't even properly look at him when he touched her arm and asked if she was alright.

"Yeah," she replied as lightly as she could. "Just tired." She stared at his shoulder the whole time.

It wasn't entirely a lie, anyway. Drained from the staggering drop-off of...whatever that was, whatever it was going to be, all she wanted now was to crawl into bed and forget.

"Michonne," he said, drawing her back from her thoughts. His smile was soft, sunlight in a storm cloud.

"Thanks for the dance."

And she managed to smile back at him. No matter the turmoil within her, there was always that understanding between them that quietly called her home.

"Yeah," she murmured. "You, too, Grimes."

He chuckled and headed up to bed.

Her heart trailed after him, weary and wanting.

* * *

A/N: So I wanted this chapter to sort of play out as a mirror (the characters mirroring each other, and Michonne's internal struggle mirroring the climax to a song). Idk if I really accomplished that but either way, I had fun writing it! Also, just wanted to say to anyone who's interested, I will be posting both Rick and Michonne's playlists in my bio if you want to check that out. Also also, if any of YOU guys have songs that remind you of Rick, Michonne, or literally ANY TWD character, feel free to run 'em by me! Next chapter is the last chapter, and it will be LEMONY. Ha. Get it. Cuz the...okay. Anyway, until next time xx.


	6. Lemon Cake

A/N: Hello, hello, hello, all! So this is the last chapter, I'm excited to finally present it to you all. It is, as you probably guessed, where the lemon cake comes in (there's actually quite a bit of lemony goodness...) Warnings for: fluff aaaand smut. I assume that's what most of you are here for anyway, but just in case, there IS adult content ahead, so proceed with caution if that's NOT what you're here for. Otherwise, thank you all so, so much for reading, your support means so much to me. Hope you enjoy!

6\. Lemon Cake

**_Then_**

_"Have your mints."_

_He laid his hand in hers._

_They didn't let go._

**_Now_**

She found him in the kitchen around midnight, humming one of her favorite Passion Pit songs as he bustled about the room. The lively scent of lemon brightened the air like summertime, but it was nothing compared to the way her heart flared with sunshine when he spotted her and smiled.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, and that word in his voice, like honey, like heat haze, somersaulted all the way down to her stomach.

"Hey, yourself," she replied, sauntering in to greet him properly. She couldn't help feeling smug as he eyed her brazenly; she was wearing his favorite outfit, a purple thong she saved for special occasions and a new Catwoman shirt, scavenged a few months back to replace the one she'd lost at the prison.

The only reason she felt comfortable wearing it now- so openly, in the middle of the house- was because they were the only two in it. Carl was spending the night with a few friends a couple houses down. Maggie and Glenn had elected to watch Judith- mostly, she assumed, to practice for their inevitable bundle of joy.

And so, the house was empty.

Thus, special occasion.

Rick pulled her into his embrace. When they kissed, it set her stomach fluttering like bird's wings. She felt giddy like she was young again and just discovering the soft, welcome pressure of another's lips and skin.

But she pulled back to grin at him because she wanted him to see it. She wanted him to see the utter joy on her face and know that he put it there.

Four days ago, they slept together for the first time.

Four days, and she felt she hadn't had the chance to properly enjoy it- the lingering memory of that night or their new relationship. Between Jesus and their deal with the Hilltop and the assassination of the Saviors, there just wasn't time.

In the back of her mind, she still wondered if it was over, the thing with the Saviors. Though the mission experienced a few road bumps, what with the Saviors alerted to their presence and Maggie and Carol taken captive, it all seemed...too quick. Too easy. That certainly wasn't par for the course as far as their luck usually ran.

_Whatever comes next, we'll handle it, _she thought firmly. It was her own thought, her own voice. She hadn't heard Mike in weeks.

It was this conviction that helped her sleep at night, the knowledge that her people, _her family, _could handle anything as long as they did it together. They were strong, they were trained, they were ready. They had food now and medicine and a new group of possible allies in the Hilltop. It was a far cry from the scorching, hollow days starving on the road out of Atlanta.

Rick cupped her face in one hand. "What are you thinking right now?"

"I'm thinking about the road out of Georgia. And how far we've come," she answered honestly. "And I'm thinking that we are very lucky."

"Mmm. I'm the luckiest," he said. "I found you."

He kissed her again and desire nearly collapsed her. Her fingers curled in the front of his shirt, dislodging a dusting of flour.

She leaned back, one eyebrow raised. "Just so we're clear, I'm also wondering what the hell you're doing in here."

_When you could be in bed, _she added silently.

He chuckled. "Just doing a little baking, is all."

"For tomorrow?"

"Yep."

In celebration of their recent success, the whole community was gathering together for a feast of sorts. Nothing extravagant, of course, but everyone was excited nonetheless. A welcome distraction, she suspected, from the unease that they might not have ended anything at all, but instead started something...

She shook away the dark thought. "I thought Carol and Eugene were in charge of the dinner."

"They are, but I thought the occasion called for the Grimes family specialty, and the recipe is top secret."

Michonne wrinkled her nose teasingly. "The Grimes family specialty?"

"I don't know why you're giving me that look."

"Okay, so what is it?"

Rick gestured to the assemblage of baking supplies on the counter, his eyes lighting up with somewhat childish excitement. "Lemon cake!"

Indeed, she noticed now the worn lemons, no doubt gathered from the shabby little citrus tree Olivia kept in her house.

"Lemon cake?"

He shrugged, perhaps a bit self-consciously. "Yeah, well, I... As a kid, I spent a lot of weekends with my grandparents. My grandma always had me helping her in the kitchen. I pretended like I hated it, but I really loved spending time with her. She was one of the sweetest people. Had a way of looking at things that...made you think maybe it ain't so bad, you know?"

Michonne nodded silently. She loved how his accent thickened when he spoke of his past.

"She grew lemons in the backyard, and she had this tradition of baking them into a cake to celebrate spring. Every year, without fail. Only reason I knew when the spring equinox fell was because of that cake."

His smile was distant, but far from sad. She tipped her head curiously.

"So why now?" she asked. Her voice was gentle, the voice she might use rescuing a bird. She wasn't sure why, but she thought the reason behind telling this story, and the cake, and that smile...she thought it may be precious. She thought she may want to keep it locked in her heart until the end and after.

"It's not spring yet. It's not even officially winter."

"Yeah, I know. But... _T__his is the beginning. _Of _all _of it. This is the spring of our new world. I know it's taken me a long time to see it. Even at the prison, I don't think I ever truly believed it. I just couldn't let myself."

He looked at her, and his smile was so soft, and the glimmer in his eyes brought tears to her own.

"But, Michonne," he said. "We get to start again. We get to _try again_. The light belongs to _us_. Not everything's gonna be easy. I know that, you know it. We'll still have to fight. But it won't be like before. We won't ever have to be that again. We _came back_."

In her mind, she returned to the first time she saw his face, the hollowness, the wildness, and how she'd matched it with her own.

In that moment, it felt impossible. It felt like someone else's shadow.

He tapped a hand to his chest, and his expression became one of amazement.

"I _hope _again," he said, and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I let it in, now, I-I _believe _in it. That we have something to hope for. That we're not just reaching for some unattainable thing but that it's really out there, and it's reaching, it wants to get to us just as badly."

She pulled him close then. There were tears on her face and a feeling in her throat like she'd swallowed the moon, huge and glimmering.

He clutched her fiercely and buried his nose in her collarbone.

"Michonne, I love you."

Shock rippled all the way down to her toes.

"I'm sorry, I know it's...very soon," he continued. "But for me, it's felt like a lifetime. I've been in love with you for so long and I'm tired of trying to sweep it under the rug. You don't have to say it back. I'm not asking for anything, that's not what this is. I just...couldn't keep it from you any longer."

He kept his head pressed to her neck, but she felt the tension creeping through him, the instinctual fear of rejection. As her surprise faded, she suppressed the urge to laugh.

"Rick," she said, and said no more until he met her gaze. She wanted him to see.

"I love you." Her heart soared saying the words. "I love you and I'm not interested in any other bullshit."

No more hiding, no more denying, no more dancing around it.

No more being afraid.

Rick laughed a little, and she could see he understood exactly what she meant.

No one had ever known her so well.

"I love you," she whispered the words again, right over his lips, before kissing him.

He responded eagerly, trembling with relief. She tasted the salt on his face and thought of how, once upon a time, she dreamed of retreating to the ocean, alone or with Andrea, and surviving. Only surviving, nothing more, because there _was _nothing more.

But she'd been wrong.

As the kiss deepened, Michonne nipped his lower lip. Rick growled, pulling her closer until they were chest to chest.

A few beats later, however, his lips stilled and he sighed.

Indignation furrowed her brow. "Um, excuse me. I wasn't done."

He huffed a laugh. "Can't say I was either, but I should probably finish this up." He motioned to the paraphernalia on the counter.

"...Okay, I honestly forgot we were even in the kitchen."

"Yeah?" The intensity in his eyes didn't match his light tone. Behind the amusement, something else burned. "Where else would you like to be?"

Her fingers remained clutched in his shirt; she squeezed them tightly.

"I can think of a few places..." she purred.

"Yeah?"

He was close enough that if she moved just an inch, she could pick up exactly where they left off.

"Yeah."

But he leaned away, suddenly all business, and said, "Well, the faster I get this done, the faster we can get to those places."

Michonne gaped. Rick grinned impudently.

"Wanna help me? I'm pretty good in a kitchen but this'll go a whole lot quicker with two people."

There was no way to stamp out the coals in her belly entirely, so she didn't bother. Instead she punched him lightly on the shoulder and laughed, "You ass. I thought the recipe was top secret."

"Well, I trust you."

So they set to work, reading measurements to each other and trying to hurry without fucking the whole thing up. But the work was not enough to distract her entirely. Again and again, her thoughts found their way back to his kiss...which inevitably spiraled into a list of all the other places she wanted him to kiss her.

It couldn't have been longer than twenty minutes, but it ached by in years. Electricity thrummed under her skin, and she was certain every hair, every nerve in her body was tuned to Rick's proximity.

Finally, Michonne slid the cake in the oven; the heat did little to assuage her flushed skin. Her head was so buzzing and full she had no time to react as she turned and collided with Rick.

"Shit!" he exclaimed as the contents of the bowl he carried splashed over the side.

Michonne jumped back but not in time; lemon glaze trickled down her shirt to her thigh.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Rick said.

"It's okay."

A short, crackling silence fell. The room was so hot, lit only by the light above the oven. They stared as the sweet syrup rolled slowly down her skin.

"Fuck me, Rick."

The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think them over.

He looked up sharply. "What?"

Her heart thumped rapidly but she held steady.

"Fuck me, Rick. I want you to fuck me."

He needed no more encouragement than that. In a single stride, he closed the distance between them and kissed her.

This kiss was different than all the others. It was hungry, wild with desperate yearning, vulnerable. Even that first night, he hadn't kissed her this way.

The first time, caution ruled everything. That wasn't to say it hadn't been beautiful, soft, passionate... But they'd each held back, almost out of politeness, simply feeling each other out. Despite finally succumbing to the tension between them, they hadn't let themselves experience each other with the unrestrained joy they wanted to. Afraid to endanger that joy.

But this time was not the first time. And she was done with all the bullshit.

She responded to him in kind, clutching his back, twining her body as close to his as possible. Her tongue slid past his teeth and he shivered warmly in her arms.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to move his lips up and down her throat, nipping lightly at her collarbone, running his tongue along the small hurt.

"Rick-"

She gasped as he rolled her earlobe between his teeth. His answering chuckle vibrated deliciously in her ear.

Well, she wasn't going to let him have all the fun.

She burrowed against his neck, claiming him, sucking fiercely enough to leave a peppering of hickeys blooming in her wake. Briefly she felt a flicker of doubt, knowing he'd have to cover them up tomorrow or risk everyone knowing of their exploits. But when she hesitated, Rick grunted and said, "Don't stop, Michonne. Please."

His voice was husky. Her pussy gave an anticipatory clench.

She continued her exploration of his throat, and as she did, she rolled her hips slowly, pressing against the prominent bulge in his pants.

He jolted, breath stuttering. She grinned and writhed more deliberately, grinding her lower stomach into his erection.

His answering groan tapered the edge between satisfaction and frustration.

"Goddammit."

Reclaiming her mouth, he cupped her ass with both hands, squeezing her generous curves before whirling her around and lifting her off the floor.

"Rick!" she squealed.

Of course, he was in such a rush that as he lifted her onto the counter top, he misjudged the distance between her head and the cabinets.

"Ow..."

"Oh, shit, are you alright?"

But Michonne giggled. "I'm fine," she assured him. In truth, it really hadn't hurt all that much. Simply surprised her.

"You sure?"

"I think I'm too horny to feel it."

They laughed for a moment before resuming their kiss. She couldn't believe how light she felt, how fearless. As if, cast through a prism, she would shatter into a myriad of dazzling colors.

Then Rick sank down until he was face level with the counter. He appraised the syrup glistening on her skin before his eyes flicked up to pin her where she sat.

She swallowed hard.

"I think it's time for a taste test," he said, his voice low like a rising moon.

Before she could respond, he licked the trail of the glaze, from the curve where her knee bent and slowly, slowly up her thigh.

Her breath caught. She ran her fingers through his hair as the touch of his tongue sent a new spark through her belly.

He took his time, making sure to lap up every last bit of sweetness. Once it was gone, he lifted her shirt to kiss a trail up around her navel and then back down to her other leg. His hands continued to climb, gripping her waist, inching higher until he cupped her breasts.

His thumbs flicked teasingly over her nipples, so hard and sensitive at this point that she cried out.

"_Rick_." She clenched her fists in his hair.

His chuckle warmed her inner thigh.

Feather-light, his fingers trailed down to the hem of her underwear. She maneuvered herself so he could pull them down more easily, then spread her legs, baring herself to him.

In the dim light, his eyes gleamed. He licked his lips.

"You're soaked already."

"Gee, I wonder why."

Gripping her thighs, he pulled himself forward. His breath was hot, unbearable, mere inches away...

She gritted her teeth. "Don't you tease me, you assh-h_ole_-"

Her muscles twitched as he licked- leisurely, like he had all the time in the world- the V where her leg met the delta of her sex.

"An asshole, am I?" he murmured. The smile was clear in his voice. "But you seem to be enjoying yourself."

For the briefest moment, his lips skimmed her clit.

She jerked, locking her legs around him.

"I'm not- taking it back," she gasped.

Humming a laugh, he trailed his tongue around the sensitive nub, peppering in a kiss or two to make her jump.

He started slow at first, but as he built in speed and pressure, she reached up to brace one hand on the same cabinet she hit her head on. Still, it caught her off guard when his lips engulfed her clit entirely, as if he was trying to swallow it. His tongue twirled expertly. Fire spidered up her spine as he gave it one last gentle, consuming suck.

"God, Rick, _fuck_-"

Her voice broke off as she surrendered to a toe-curling orgasm.

The climax surprised her. In the past, she had always been able to hold back, pushing herself to the edge and backing off in a dance that allowed for one hell of a finale.

But Rick was so _deft_...

He leaned back, letting her recover, and underneath his smug grin she saw unfiltered joy.

"Good?" he asked.

"The best." She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. "But we are definitely not done."

Wrapping her arms around him, she let him lift her from the counter- carefully this time- and lay her on the floor beneath him.

"Oh, no," she said, flashing him a grin. "I'm on top this time."

"Anything your heart desires, ma'am."

They repositioned themselves, removing clothes as they went, until she hovered over him.

"My turn to taste," she said and licked the length of his shaft.

She was rewarded with a mighty twitch and a groan that set her nerves smoldering. One hand reached down to massage his balls. Her mouth continued its vigorous work, licking and kissing, paying special attention to his dripping tip.

"God, baby, yes," he near-whimpered, tangling his fingers in her locs.

Keeping her rhythm, she took his throbbing head in her mouth and stroked him with her free hand.

He gasped. "Wait, wait, wait."

She leaned back, confused, still savoring the taste of him.

"If you keep going, I won't hold out much longer," he explained. "And I want you, Michonne."

His voice softened at the end, and her heart seemed to fill her entire rib cage.

"I want you," she replied. "Until the end and after."

Delicately, lovingly, she lowered herself onto him. A small, broken sound left her throat as his cock filled her. She rocked her hips, running her hands up his bare chest. He thrust upward intermittently, jarring her with the sweet shock of his depth.

They gained momentum by steady degrees, each of them buzzing with such stimulation they had no hope of holding out much longer. A second wave gained force within her; this orgasm promised to surpass even the first.

His cock twitched within her slick folds and she thought, _This one's gonna knock me on my ass._

Then Rick reached out, one hand gently thumbing her clit, the other seeking her breasts, and...

Her legs turned to jelly. It was too much.

With the last of her dwindling control, she bounced atop him at greater speed, driving him toward the cliff with her. His body went rigid beneath her.

She came with a cry, he a second later, and the swells of pleasure that overcame her blurred her vision with stars.

Minutes passed while they lay recovering, too spent to offer much in the way of conversation. But eventually, Rick stirred, stroking a hand lazily up and down her back.

"That was...wow," he said.

She rasped a laugh. "You stole the words right out of my mouth."

He smiled at her a moment, as if she'd said something more profound. Then he shook his head.

"I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

The words spun in her mind a few rapid heartbeats before the tears came.

Just then, the timer went off for the lemon cake, giving her a chance to blink her vision clear again. She realized belatedly that the cake's wonderful scent permeated the air, lingering brightly over the dusky smell of sex.

"Guess we should probably get cleaned up," Rick sighed. "Finish what we started."

Michonne grazed his chest lightly with her nails. "Wanna double up in the shower? Conserve some water?"

He laughed and kissed her. "Fuck yeah, I do."

They left the cake to cool on the counter and tidied up, making sure to leave no trace of their lovemaking behind. As they gathered their clothes, Michonne rested her eyes on Rick, drinking him in.

She'd forgotten what it felt like to be filled with such overflowing happiness. She wasn't used to it.

She wanted it all the time. She wanted it forever.

"Hey, Grimes," she said.

He looked up.

"I've never loved anyone the way I love you, either."

The joy in his face shone like the dazzling rays of high noon. She grinned from ear to ear.

He held out his arm. "To the shower?"

She linked her arm with his. "To the shower."

_This is the beginning, _he had said.

There was not a doubt in her mind that he was right.

* * *

A/N: And then they lived happily ever after because season 7-8 NEVER HAPPENED. Lol (seriously. I don't count them as canon.)

Welp, there it is. Short and sweet. I really forgot how much I love writing smut! I included a bit of sexual content in my other TWD stories, but I left out a majority of the details simply because sex wasn't the end goal there and I was afraid it might rub readers the wrong way. BUT this story's chapters are essentially...well, foreplay leading up to this one, so I wrote in much more of the good bits. Still, it's been a long time, so hopefully I did it justice!

I can't leave without saying one final, humongous THANK YOU, to my readers and especially my reviewers. You all made writing this story so rewarding and fun, I read and cherished each of your comments, and I really cannot thank you enough. Until next time, my friends- much love xx.


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